“No,” I say, sharper.
Kel’s eyes snap to mine.
“She stays under my protection,” I repeat, and this time the room feels it. The guards shift. Renn’s breath catches behind me. Even Glar’s smile thins slightly.
Kel’s mask hisses again. “You make demands as if you still hold authority.”
I step forward, just one pace, and the room tightens around the movement. “I’m not making a demand,” I say. “I’m stating a fact.”
Kel’s eyes flick toward Glar again, and I see it—fear, real fear, the kind Kel never used to wear.
He’s leashed.
And I want to rip the leash out with my teeth.
But not yet.
Not in front of Glar.
Not with Jordan standing here, too valuable and too fragile to be caught in the first swing.
So I do what I’ve learned to do in prison: I smile without warmth.
“I’ll stand down,” I say, voice even. “For now.”
Kel exhales, shoulders easing as if he’s survived something.
Glar chuckles. “That’s better.”
Jordan looks at me like she wants to set me on fire.
I meet her gaze and give her the smallest shake of my head.
Not here.
Not now.
Kel gestures toward Renn. “Get them quarters. Secure ones. And keep the human watched.”
Jordan bristles at the wordwatched, but she doesn’t argue—not yet.
Renn nods stiffly. “Yes, Godfather.”
I turn to leave, guiding Jordan with a subtle pressure of presence, not touch.
As the doors slide shut behind us, I keep my face calm.
Inside, my mind is already moving.
Tribute accounts doubled.
Kel leashed to the Nine.
Glar sitting in the Godfather’s room like he belongs there.
And Yatori—staged, silent, surgical.
No.
